Su Casa, Mi Casa

Have you ever rented a stranger’s home? This is something my husband, Charlie and I have done every vacation for over 20 years. When our children were young, it was just for a week or two. But now, we rent a different furnished house in Florida for three months every winter.

As soon as we arrive, before we unpack the car, Charlie and I take off in different directions, exploring the house in gender-stereotypical ways. He’s finding the electrical outlets, deciding on the best spot for his computer and my computer, checking out the hoses and fuse boxes, scoping out the garage and making his list for Radio Shack.

I spend a lot of time making a grocery list - not because I cook but because I’m still usually responsible for figuring out what necessities we need (coffee, soap, popcorn, TP). But as I take this inventory, what I am really doing is trying to get a sense of the people who own the home. Their presence is palpable, as though they were lingering spirits, and I need to make friends with them before I can feel at home for three months. This year, the spirits were restless. They were fighting with each other. I searched for clues.

This is tricky business. The closets and bureaus are empty, of course. Even the stray refrigerator magnet ("Bingo Keeps Me Regular!") or the books on the shelf could have been left by previous renters. But I’m up to the task. Out in the kitchen, some of the appliances are still in their original boxes, with German manuals and writing on the boxes. Charlie reports that there are two German language cable channels on the TV. OK, so the owners are German.

I wander around the whole house now, taking in the furnishings and the "art". The thing that struck us when we first entered the home was a four-foot sculpture of a goofy, demented-looking golfer by the front door. There is also, up on a high shelf, something of a statuette collection of golfers in liederhosen, and also much evidence of a crafty person who makes theme shadow boxes. The one over the kitchen sink, for example, contains plastic fruit, empty cereal boxes and the remnants of a Mc Donald’s Happy Meal. Also an American quarter and a beer cap. Not sure if they strayed from the theme, or perhaps the theme was "American Breakfast".

All of that exists, intermingled with lots of fat gold angels, Romanesque statues and a giant print of three amorous, disrobed Roman women hanging over the bed. This is not right. I plop myself down on a gold brocade loveseat in the living room and stare at the marble columned coffee table from Wise Guy Warehouse. Charlie gives me a dirty look as he limps by me with 3 suitcases. I should be helping him.

And suddenly I’ve got it. "The Germans just bought the house - recently!" I yell at him as I follow him back to the garage. "All the golfers and the fast food art belongs to them. Everything else was left by the previous owner! No wonder the spirits are fighting."

"That’s great," Charlie says."Can we unpack the car now?"